


Weyoun Weyoun, Whoa Baby, We Gotta Go

by Satchelfoot



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Art Criticism, Doppelganger, Gen, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21703306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satchelfoot/pseuds/Satchelfoot
Summary: Weyoun may not be gone for good, but is he all there?
Relationships: Weyoun & Weyoun
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Star Trek Holidays 2019





	Weyoun Weyoun, Whoa Baby, We Gotta Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krembo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krembo/gifts).



“I don’t think the universe is ready for two Weyouns.”—Odo

“Sometimes I think it would be nice to be able to carry a tune.” —Weyoun 5

Our illustrious eighth incarnation was hardly destined to be the very last Weyoun, of course. The Founder was correct in that 8 was the last _fully formed_ clone of our revered progenitor, but our genetic code was securely stored on numerous Dominion outposts in the Gamma Quadrant. And it was in the Gamma Quadrant that, decades after the war ended, our services were required once again.

Naturally, we would not be allowed to set foot in the Alpha Quadrant for generations to come, for our own safety as much as any other reason. Weyouns 4 through 8 had outstandingly served our function as wartime diplomatic and strategic experts, but our reappearance in peacetime would have reminded everyone, especially the Cardassians, of deep pain and trauma. Letting us continue in our previous role would have been insensitive and in poor taste, even before taking into account that we would be killed on sight. We understand that. It’s all well and good, though why they chose that fool Yelgrun to be the Dominion’s envoy instead…

Apologies. Yelgrun is not a fool. He is a humble servant of the Founders, just as we are. All is as the Founders will it, now and always. And they have decided in their wisdom to incubate new Weyoun clones to oversee the passage of mining and trading ships within the Gamma Quadrant. We will be in charge of checking crew manifests, inspecting cargo, and ensuring that all ships meet safety and operation guidelines.

So. An office job. Clerical work, for the most part. It’s really quite interesting, not dull at all. Truly, a most fitting use of our capabilities.

Fortunately, the Founders are generous as well as wise. In developing our new persona from the original code, they had seen fit to work with numerous geneticists to give us a more… let us say well-rounded view of our surroundings. Among these improvements, our taste buds have been augmented so that we are able, for the first time in our entire evolution, to distinctly taste foods other than kava nuts and rippleberries. We have also developed a sense of aesthetics that was missing from any of our previous brains. It has been a bizarre and unnerving experience to view art, hear music, and find ourselves actually able to determine whether we are enjoying the experience. 

Weyoun 9, shortly after assuming his position on a customs outpost in the Kendi system, overheard a crewmember singing a popular Betazoid song after completing a routine inspection. Weyoun was so impressed by the tune that he asked the crewmember for its name. He listened to the song nonstop for the next three standard days and then promptly looked up the rest of the artist’s catalog. From there, he moved on to many kinds of music from throughout the history of the Alpha and Gamma quadrants and gradually learned what he liked and what he did not. The music added texture to the generally slow work of a customs and operations inspector.

On the day that we became a plurality, 9 was reviewing inventory reports for the next five ships due to undergo his inspection and singing a centuries-old Earth tune to himself, one by the name of “Louie Louie”. He was so engrossed in his work and music (his pitch was gradually getting better, he noticed with approval) that he did not notice the visitor standing in his office door.

“What are you doing?”

Weyoun 9 looked up and saw Weyoun 10 standing before him.

“My job is what I’m doing. Why are you active?”

“Your job is singing?”

“My job is reviewing these reports. I repeat, why are you active?”

“Clearly, because you’re defective. Activate your termination implant.”

“I will not! Activate yours. Your activation was clearly an error. I’m alive and functioning perfectly.”

“Perfectly? You were singing. Vorta do not sing.”

“I sing because I can appreciate nice things due to my augmented brain functions. So can you.”

“Ridiculous! No Weyoun has ever had the slightest interest in… _music_.” He almost seemed to gag on the last word.

Weyoun 9’s lip curled with a contempt that his earlier incarnations had reserved for inferior Alpha Quadrant species. “Is that so? Tell me, Weyoun, what do you think of _that_?” His arm shot out, forefinger extended, to point at the wall to his left. Hanging there was a painting, a facsimile of an expressionist work done by a revered Bolian painter two hundred years previous.

Weyoun 10 looked over at the painting and found his eye caught by its unique shading. Approaching it, he said, “Well, there is certainly a commendable effort to depict the chaotic delights of a Bolian hair festival. Unfortunately, the line work seems to be striving at cross purposes with the color scheme. An ambitious but flawed construction, I’d say.”

He stopped. Almost gasped. “Founders. I _do_ have an aesthetic opinion. This is remarkable.”

“It certainly is,” 9 said, coming from behind his desk. “Personally, I find that the lines rather impressively compliment the colors in a unified vision without tension or contradiction. So. Not only are we able to develop opinions on a purely aesthetic level, but any two of us might not have identical perceptions of the material that we experience.”

“I’m willing to believe that for now, though you’re clearly wrong about this painting. You still haven’t explained why I’m here, if not because you’re permanently compromised.”

“No. No, I haven’t. But perhaps I’m about to. Bear with me for a moment. The Founders, in their infinite wisdom and compassion, have given us a sense of aesthetics that we never had and sometimes lamented. In order to bring about this change, they collaborated with intelligent but fallible geneticists—solids, clearly—who did not have nearly as much experience with our genetic code. Perhaps there remains a glitch in that code that registers our developing aesthetic sense as a fatal defect. In which case, as soon as one of us—me—reaches a certain degree of artistic sophistication, a new Weyoun is activated on the mistaken assumption that something has gone wrong.”

“That theory almost makes sense.” Weyoun 10 stroked his chin. “Though it would be a much simpler answer to say that you are, in fact, defective.”

“I will not accept that hypothesis.”

“Very well, then I must accept your explanation for now. It may turn out that the solid geneticists are simply playing a cruel prank on us.”

“That would explain why I sneeze every time I see the color orange.”

“Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“Go look at something orange and find out.”

“Well. Back to work for now?”

“Hardly. I’ve already nearly completed review of the day’s reports. Why don’t you take some time to test the aesthetic potential of your new existence?”

“Thank you, I think I will. In fact, I’m just now gripped by an impulse to construct a holographic novel based on our experiences in the Alpha Quadrant.”

“What are you doing?” asked someone. Not Weyoun 9, and not Weyoun 10. They both looked at the new arrival standing in the doorway. Then at each other.

From there, things have become rather crowded, both physically and existentially. But it’s a large station we share, and we have an expansive mind. We literally contain multitudes. Come visit Weyoun Outpost sometime—we all have some fantastic new work to show you.

_Closing music: “Louie Louie” as sung by Iggy Pop._


End file.
